


Kiss It Better

by f-ing-ruthless-baz (f_ing_ruthless_baz)



Series: Carry On Ficlets [4]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Ficlet, First Kiss, Healing, Injury, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, POV Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 22:41:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20235547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/f_ing_ruthless_baz/pseuds/f-ing-ruthless-baz
Summary: I wince as I sit upright, only to find Snow kneeling in front of me with a panicked look on his face. I can tell he’s trying to look at me—at my wound—but his eyes have trouble focusing on one spot. It’s gotten dark out, and the trees block out most of the moonlight, so I can see him far better than he can see me. He reaches for my arm on my injured side and I hiss as fresh pain shoots through me.“Fuck, Baz! You’re really hurt!” he says.“No shit.”Baz sustains an injury from a monster in the woods, and Simon's the only one who can make it better.





	Kiss It Better

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WarriorBeeoftheSea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WarriorBeeoftheSea/gifts).

> Based on this prompt from a list: Tentative kisses given in the dark.
> 
> It's set in a nondescript, canon-like universe, but all that really matters is that Simon and Baz hate each other. _Or do they?_

“What the hell _was_ that thing?” Snow shouts as we stumble through a dense thicket of trees to escape the… whatever that was. Snow’s supporting me with his arm around my side, and mine slung over his shoulders—I don’t think I could have made it on my own.

“I have no fucking clue,” I reply, without my usual air of self-assuredness.

We reach a gap in the trees, just large enough for us to collapse to the ground so we can catch our breath and our bearings. The _creature_ seemed too big to follow us through the thicket, but not so big that it could raze the whole thing. Speed appeared to be its strength, more so than might, since it managed to stab me right below my shoulder with a giant, razor-sharp spine, before I even knew it was there.

I wince as I sit upright, only to find Snow kneeling in front of me with a panicked look on his face. I can tell he’s trying to look at me—at my wound—but his eyes have trouble focusing on one spot. It’s gotten dark out, and the trees block out most of the moonlight, so I can see him far better than he can see me. He reaches for my arm on my injured side and I hiss as fresh pain shoots through me.

“Fuck, Baz! You’re really hurt!” he says.

“No shit,” I say through gritted teeth as I wait for the shockwave from my shoulder to subside.

“Well, _Jesus_—Fuck—Do something! Fix it!” He makes a motion to reach for me again, but stops himself. He does learn, I suppose.

“I dropped my wand, you numpty. I can’t!” I snap at him. As if it’s his fault. (Perhaps it is, though; I doubt the Humdrum would send so many attacks to Watford if the _Chosen One_ wasn’t here.)

“I’ll do it, then!”

“With your luck, you’ll blow us both up!”

“I can’t just leave you here!” he yells, tugging on his hair in distress.

“It would make your life easier, wouldn’t it? With me out of the picture.” I push my blazer off my shoulder and place my hand over the wound, thinking pressure might help it feel better. It doesn’t.

There’s hardly any blood, though, which probably makes sense. I don’t know if I could actually die from this, but it’s not safe out there for Snow to go get help, and I don’t know how much longer it will be before I pass out from the pain.

“Maybe you can try casting without your wand,” he says. “I can do that, sometimes.”

“That’s because you’re a freak,” I say, and then hiss again when I try to move my arm.

He reaches for my other arm, like he’s trying to ground himself to me in the dark. “_Try_.”

“I can’t—”

“Just try, Baz! You have to at least try!”

I close my eyes and take a shaky breath as I consider trying his ridiculous proposal. _Casting without a wand_. Absurd.

Yet I try, anyway. I rattle off a few healing spells, but without my wand to focus my magic, it’s just not strong enough. “It’s no use—”

“_Keep trying_,” Snow says seriously—darkly, even—firming his grip on my arm. He closes his eyes, like he’s concentrating on something, and I feel a sudden surge of magic course through me.

It’s not my magic.

I don’t know how he’s doing it, but Snow is bloody _giving me his magic_.

“Try it again,” he says, and I do.

The spells come pouring out of me with more power than I could ever achieve on my own, and I can feel them doing _something_. They worked. A little.

“The wound’s closed,” I say as I reach across my chest to feel it again. Snow’s hand falls from my arm and the magical connection drops. “But it’s not healed.”

His brow furrows with concern as he leans in to try to get a better look—his eyes must have adjusted to the light somewhat. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I can feel it. Inside it’s still torn up.” It figures. A magical creature leaves a magical wound, so it must require even more powerful magic to heal it.

“Do you know any stronger spells?”

“No,” I lie. I do know a stronger healing spell—heals almost anything—but it wouldn’t work right now.

“Well, I know one,” he says, looking me square in the eye. “Penny told me about it. It—” He stops and looks back down at my shoulder.

I watch him as he ghosts his fingertips over the fabric around the hole in my shirt. He’s so gentle, I barely feel a thing.

“Does it still hurt a lot?” he asks, meeting my gaze once more.

“No,” I lie again.

He frowns, like he doesn’t believe me. “Look, I—I have an idea, but—”

“But _what_, Snow?”

“You’re not gonna like it.”

“It’s really not that ba—_Fuck_!” I cry out when I attempt to back away from him. I groan through my teeth and shut my eyes as I try not to let the pain win. (I refuse to faint in front of Snow.)

“Fuck it,” he mutters, and starts pulling my tie loose.

“What are you—”

“Just shut up and let me do this,” he says, and slides my tie all the way off, tossing it aside like it’s rubbish. His jaw is set with determination and the air around us fills with the scent of his magic as he fumbles with the buttons on my shirt.

Perhaps I did pass out, and now I’m dreaming that Simon Snow is about to have his way with me. I suppose there are worse things.

He carefully pushes my shirt down off my shoulder, exposing my sealed wound, and closes his eyes in concentration again. “**Kiss it better**!” he says, loud and clear, and I can feel the spell wash over me, like it’s flooding my veins, waiting to be directed.

The thing about **Kiss it better** is that the healing magic doesn’t know where to go until the caster directs it. With a kiss. And surely Snow’s not about to—

He proves me wrong when he leans down and presses his lips to my shoulder, and all the magic pools into that spot. I inhale sharply as the intensity of his spell works on repairing my internal injuries—healing is not a very pleasant process, even when it’s magic.

Except it’s made significantly more pleasant with Snow zealously placing kisses all around the affected area. I’m almost tempted to let him have at it forever, but, alas, I do let him know once I can tell the spell has done its job.

“You sure?” he says when he lifts his head to look at me, eyes wide.

“Yeah.” A breathy laugh escapes me, out of sheer relief at the absence of pain.

He smiles and laughs in relief as well, as he holds onto me by both shoulders. “Thank _fuck_.”

I can’t help laughing again, whole-heartedly, at the ridiculousness of the situation, and soon we’re both collapsing onto our backs in a delirious fit of giggles. When I roll my head to the side to look at him, I find him already staring back at me, though I can tell he’s still struggling to make out my features in the dark. (The idea that he would want to make out my features enough to be worth the struggle is more thrilling than it ought to be.)

A question nags in the back of my mind, though. “That spell…”

“It only works if the caster truly cares about the person they’re trying to heal, yeah,” he says, sobering quickly.

“Right,” I say, so quietly I’m almost afraid he won’t hear me. “So how…”

“I didn’t want you to die.” He swallows. “I—I care about you too much to let you die, Baz. To see you hurt like that.”

I don’t know what to say to that. I simply watch as he turns towards me and props himself up on his elbow so he can take another look at my shoulder. (I’m suddenly very aware that half my chest is still exposed, but I feel drawing attention to that will just make it worse.)

He trails his fingertips over my shoulder again, delicately, like he thinks I might still be in pain. “How do you feel, then?” he asks softly.

“Fine,” I say, though my voice strains to come out at all. _Excellent. Wonderful. Please keep touching me._ “Good.”

“Good.” The smallest of smiles twitches the corner of his mouth, before he lowers his head and kisses my shoulder again. Less ardently than before, when he was trying to direct magic with it. Though I have no idea _what_ he’s trying to do now.

When he lifts his head this time, he shifts even closer. Maybe I have _some_ idea.

His eyes dance across my face, trying to find a place to land, and I lift my head slightly to close the distance between us. He doesn’t back away. I can feel his breath on my face, rather uneven—like mine. I push my lips up to his—I want to, and I think he’ll let me—but my uncertainty makes me hesitate a moment until I feel him pushing back. Just a little. So I push a little further—he still pushes back, matching me.

I don’t know if this is a good kiss—I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing—but I move my lips against his, because it feels right. It feels like the thing to do. The only thing I need to do. _I need to kiss Simon Snow_.

He responds in kind, moving his lips with mine—but _more_. He’s moving his chin and tilting his head, so I just let him push me back even farther and take over. He’s done this before, clearly.

I reach up and hold him by the back of his head, like I don’t ever want him to leave this spot, and he doesn’t seem to protest. Not until I pull back to take a breath, and he juts his chin forward like he’s chasing my mouth. It makes me laugh, delirious again, and he does as well.

“Simon,” I say as he settles back onto his side on the ground next to me, still brushing his fingertips over my shoulder. “Thank you.”

“For what?” he asks, unable to keep the smile off his face.

“For… caring. I suppose.”

He grins wider. “Any time.”

I reach for his hand and wrap mine around it, though I’m still in disbelief about all of this—and I’m quite possibly still passed out and dreaming.

“D’you think…” he begins, giving my hand a squeeze. “D’you think if I helped, you’d be able to fight off that… _thing_? Like… If we worked together?”

“I don’t know, Snow,” I say, and squeeze his hand in return. “Maybe we should try.”

“You called me Simon before,” he adds as I carefully push myself upright.

I look back at him over my healed shoulder. “No, I didn’t.”

He sits up as well. “You did.”

“Come on, we have a _thing_ to fight.” I glance at him again. He’s pouting, so I roll my eyes. “—_Simon_.”

“Right, then.” He grins again and quickly leans in for a peck on the lips before standing. “We’d better find your wand—and _you’d_ better button up. No one wants to see that.”

I scoff in indignation and fasten my buttons as I rise to my feet. “Fuck you, Snow.”

“Maybe later.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to know about my WIPs and other random, vaguely Carry On or fanfic-related things I like to talk about, you can find me on tumblr as [@f-ing-ruthless-baz](https://f-ing-ruthless-baz.tumblr.com)!


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